Silent But Deadly
by TheWaiter
Summary: When Rude gets shot, he suddenly has visions, memories of what led him to the life he knows now, the life as a Soldier for Shinra. Slight AU, Post Advent Children.
1. Shot

**A/N: **Okay, so here is a slightly-longer style fic that has five chapters done. It takes place post-Advent Children, and looks into Rude's life before the events of FF7. I took a lot of liberties with his character, so consider this an AU story. And try to enjoy it!

**Disclaimer:**The locations, characters, and names in this story are copyright Square Enix, AKA "Awesome LTD". The events, blood, tears, and sweat contained within these digital pages, however, is all mine.

**Shot**

"I don't need soldiers that run away from battle, maggots. I need killers. Men and women who aren't afraid to go toe to toe with the planet herself, and win with a smile on their dirty little faces." Sergeant Woodstock paced in front of the recruits, helmet in the crook of his arm. He didn't hold much hope for the new Shinra guard recruits. Not a promising one among them. He scanned for targets, someone to set an example.

"You!" He shouted, approaching a pockmarked youth who couldn't have been older than sixteen. "Do you believe in the planet's ability to save you, soldier?" The sergeant was right close to the teenagers face, and he shook.

"Y-Yes, sir."

Woodstock backhanded the youth across the face, making him crumble to the ground. "On your feet, scumbag!" He scrambled to his feet.

"Now, I'm going to ask that question again, because clearly you didn't hear me correctly the first time. Do you believe in the planet?"

The youth didn't say a word. Woodstock inched closer, until their noses were almost touching. He could feel the kid shaking. "Do you, son? Do you believe that the almighty planet cannot be stopped? She can save us all from a life of despair? That she can nurture you back to full health on just her fruits?"

"N-No, sir?"

Woodstock's knee came up and hit the youth in the groin. He doubled over. Woodstock turned to the two guards flanking the doorway. "Get this little worm out of my training grounds. I want him out of my building, out of my core, and out of my sight!"

The two guards jumped forwards, trying to avoid any unnecessary damage that the ornery Woodstock was famous for dishing out. Woodstock was already pacing, searching for his next victim. He stopped in front of a thin young man, seventeen, by the looks of it. His stance was off compared to the others, a subtle slouch to his posture. His hair was jet black, a stark contrast to his pale skin, and his eyes were a dark, clear green.

"You! Do you believe in our mother, the planet?" Grey eyes stormed against green. Woodstock was used to having teenagers flinch when he glared at them. The recruit didn't so much as blink.

"No, Sir." He answered confidently.

He was rewarded with a backhand from the older man, but unlike the recruit before him, he didn't fall, just turned his head with the slap, another first for the old sergeant. Woodstock glowered for a moment, and asked again.

"Do you believe in our mother, the planet!?"

"No, Sir." The youth said again, his gaze straight ahead.

The sergeants blow should've broke the kid's nose, but when the older man lunged, the youth bent to the side, dodging the blow. Woodstock's boot, however, hit home, the full force of his kick hitting the young man straight in the stomach. It threw the recruit back, landing on his back. His head cracked off the wall. Woodstock stood over him, glaring.

"On your feet." The youth obeyed, showing no signs of pain or fear. Just a sheer determination was in his eyes. Woodstock got close to this one, too, eye to eye. Again, the boy didn't flinch. Woodstock sneered. He'd learn to flinch. They'd all learn to flinch.

Grabbing a fistful of the kid's hair, Woodstock hammered the palm of his hand into the kid's jaw. The teen, obviously used to being pounded on, didn't clench it, but slackened it, preventing a break. Woodstock was in a ready rage now. He threw the thin teen to the ground.

"Seems like we needs us lesson in manners, don't we, boy?" He said, looking down at the kid's name, starting when his name badge was blank. He kept a boot on the boy's chest. "From now on, you will answer to Rude. Got that, Soldier?"

Rude nodded, still staring straight ahead. Woodstock slapped him again. "You will ANSWER when I ask you a question! Got that!?" No response.

Woodstock knew when to move on, but he also knew that this wasn't the last round with the recruit. He'd be back for him. He'd make him pay.

* * *

The dream startled Rude into moving, gripping his wound with renewed energy. A mantra was continuing in his head, an almost incessant chanting. _Keep moving, keep the blood flowing, stay alive._

He gritted his teeth, the rain coming down in sheets as he leaned heavily against a wall for support. Where was he? Midgar. He remembered Midgar vaguely. He was wounded? Had he been shot? Why had he been shot?

Images flashed in his mind, images of fighting for his life after his partner had been killed. The shock of being shot in the shoulder and stomach, followed by a dull ache. An ache that had morphed into a full-blown shrieking pain, causing spasms. He controlled the pain, regulated it to the back of his mind. He needed to keep moving. Find help. Who was in Midgar? What was in midgar?

A name came to him, through the muddled and jumbled mess that was his state of mind at the moment.

_Avalanche_.

His brain didn't connect the dots. It was raining, not snowing. Why would an avalanche save him? What exactly was an Avalanche? He looked up at the sky, as if it could decipher his train of thought. Clouds formed, rolling through the dark air as if angry at the world.

Clouds. Cloud. Cloud Strife.

Avalanche.

With a jerk, he turned his body, leveraging himself off the wall with his shoulder. He staggered and managed to walk in a straight line for a few steps, before falling against the wall again. He gritted his teeth harder, reaching to push his sunglasses further up his nose, an instinctive motion.

When his gloved hands made contact with the skin of his nose, he realised that he didn't have any sunglasses on. Where did they go? Sunglasses don't just fly off faces. That wasn't possible. His mind muddled again, fogging up. Why didn't he have his sunglasses on? He never left the house without sunglasses. Maybe they were at home. Maybe they broke. Where was he going again?

Cloud Strife. The 7th heaven. That seemed to be his only safe hope. While he didn't have a chummy relationship with Cloud and Tifa, they certainly weren't enemies anymore. He'd head for the 7th heaven.

Rude continued his mantra, heading in the direction of the fabled bar. The rain around him pounded, splashing into puddles as he stepped through them. Rude didn't shiver. His body was used to rain. Rain was soothing, helpful, and he felt like, if he stood still long enough, he could let it wash all his fears away.

_Keep moving, keep the blood flowing, stay alive. Keep moving, keep the blood flowing, stay alive. Keep moving…_

He would survive this. Even through the rain.

* * *

_A/N: If you give me a review, I'll give you leprechauns gold._


	2. Rain

**Rain**

The rain pounded around the recruits as they jogged through the dense forest. Woodstock ran right alongside them, saying nothing, and making the recruits nervous.

It was two weeks into Shinra guard training, and the recruits had learned a few things about their taskmaster. If Woodstock was silent, it meant he was thinking of a punishment that would be far worse than the crime committed. He had already maimed a recruit for stealing from the mess hall, slashing him across the face with that deadly combat knife he always carried. The men had learned quickly that when facing the sergeant, to keep one eye on that knife at all times. It was huge; the blade was fifteen inches long, looking more like a short sword than any knife any of the young men had ever seen. The sergeant always kept it sharp, and called it his "Attitude adjusting module." The men had a healthy amount of fear for the old man, and not a few held a place in their hearts for revenge.

One of the recruits lost his footing on a hill, and slid downwards, knocking another recruit over in the process. Woodstock was right there, kicking at the two of them, screaming until they staggered to their feet and continued the relentless run.

"If you want to be guards, ladies, then you need to step it up! Shinra will NOT have slackers and slouchers on the payroll. They aint got any place for you yellowbellied suckers, and I aint got the patience to change you. So shape up, or I'll kick your sorry hides right back to where you came from."

The recruits, matching in uniforms and shaved heads, turned a corner on the trail, and all breathed a sigh of relief when the mess hall came into view. It was all downhill from here, and the recruits could finally catch their breath, while making it closer to a hot meal.

Woodstock doubled the pace. About halfway down the hill, a young man, named Barry, lost his footing on the slippery grass, and, arms pin wheeling, fell, his five-foot-four frame somersaulting in an almost free fall. He landed in a heap, a sickening crunch was heard to the recruits advancing below.

One of the recruits sprinted down to him, bending near his mouth. Woodstock followed, knife drawn. He arrived to hear the tail end of a conversation.

"-can't make it, man. Just go. The worst he can do is kill me." Barry moaned, clutching a very broken looking leg.

The recruit - Rude, Woodstock saw, with a smirk- said nothing, just picked Barry up. Barry's stocky frame couldn't have been easy to handle for the twig thin teenager, but there he was, lifting Barry like he weighed nothing. And then -to all of the young men's astonishment- Rude continued jogging.

Woodstock caught up to him, giving him a sharp rap on the back of the knee with his knife sheath. "You better run harder and faster than any man in this regiment, Rude, or I'll beat the snot out of both of you. When I'm through, you're going to wish I had only broken your leg. A man down is a liability, someone not to be helped. You must defend yourself, and only yourself, if you're going to be any good at guarding. You hear me, Rude? I'll kick your ass six ways till Sunday-"

Rude drowned the sergeant out, but kept up a relentless pace. Every once and a while, the sergeant hit him in the knee or thigh, trying to trip him up. A couple of times the old man succeeded, but Rude was always on his feet before he could have his "opinion adjusted" by the fifteen inch monstrosity.

Rude made it back to the mess hall a tad ahead of the crowd, depositing Barry in the medical bay. As he was walking back to his bunk, he was suddenly attacked by a very angry Woodstock.

The sergeant whipped him with a cane, beating him until Rude was a bloody mess on the ground. Woodstock then leaned close, to make sure that no words were lost on the resilient teenager.

"Never, _ever_, embarrass me like that again, Rude. Or I'll kill you." He sneered, spitting on the teenager. He then stood, striding back to his cabin.

Rude rolled over on the wet grass, allowing the rain to wash away the blood and sweat he had accumulated. Not for the first time, he cursed the world for forcing him to join the Shinra guard.

* * *

The 7th heaven was just closing up from a very productive day of business, and Tifa was losing herself in her work, as she tended to do every so often.

Even with Yuffie visiting and Cloud rarely leaving, Tifa still found some alone time in the quiet hours between midnight and morning, when she could wash dishes and counters, check inventory, and to general management things to help her think.

She was thinking a lot lately.

Of course, a woman in her position had a lot to think about. Or rather, worry about. She worried about Denzel's quiet state lately and Vincent's reclusive attitude. She worried about seeing the sun rise in the morning and the state of the planet as of late.

She worried about Cloud, who had gone out to investigate loud, booming noises he had heard.

_Gunshots. _He thought they had been gunshots. With the increase in crime rates, Midgar was no longer a stranger to violence. But actual gunfights were a rarity, and if there had been one… well, that meant that others were likely to follow.

She bit her bottom lip, staring out at the blackened streets. What if Cloud went to investigate, and got caught in the middle of some violent showdown? Of course, Cloud could handle himself, but he'd been shot before.

In those moments, when the bullet ripped through him, she had suddenly become aware of how _mortal_ he was.

She shook the thought from her head, wiping a table down, trying to keep the worry at bay. But her gaze rose to the windows again.

"Worried?" A voice said from the stairwell. Tifa looked up, seeing Yuffie leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed.

"Yeah. It's silly, I know, but I just… I can't help it." Tifa sighed, pushing some stray hair behind her ear.

Yuffie approached the older woman, nodding solemnly. "Hey, Cloud can take care of himself. He only got shot because they took him by surprise. And besides, if it really _was_ gunshots we heard, there's no way they can be experienced gunmen. Not like the remnants, at any rate."

Tifa nodded, still staring blankly at the window, lost in her thoughts. Yuffie smiled inwardly. Tifa could never stop worrying, these days. It was almost cute.

The door suddenly cracked as if kicked, and exploded inwards. Yuffie hopped of the table in a defensive stance, and Tifa had her fists cocked.

Both women relaxed when Cloud appeared. They tensed again when they saw what was draped over Cloud's shoulders.

"Give me a hand." Cloud said, voice raised. "He's really heavy, and he's lost a lot of blood."

With Tifa's assistance, the placed the suited man on the bar counter. Tifa assessed the damage while Cloud explained. "I found him limping, around the same area I heard the gunshots. He kept mumbling about Shinra and threatening someone named Woodstock. When I got to him, he looked almost dead, and collapsed. I had to drag him back to the bar."

Tifa nodded, examining the man. Something about his face looked oddly familiar. She checked his head for injuries. Other than a ripped ear lobe, from what looked like a piercing ripped out, his head was fine.

"Yuffie, hand me that pair of scissors." She said. Yuffie complied, curiously examining the face of the man.

Her sharp intake of breath made Tifa pause, scissors poised over the man's suit. "It… It's Rude." She said, staring into his face.

Cloud leaned closer. "I didn't't recognize him without the sunglasses. Tifa, cut his shirt off. I think his injuries are on his chest."

Tifa did so, and Yuffie turned her back. Tifa looked at her curiously, and then examined Rudes injuries. "He's been shot in the shoulder and gut, it looks like." She checked his back. "They both have exit wounds. At least we won't have to pick any bullets out of him. When he comes to, we'll give him a potion."

Cloud nodded, unwrapping gauze from the med kit he'd retrieved. "We can bandage him up, Yuffie. You can go to bed if you want."

Yuffie looked grateful, and beat a hasty retreat. Tifa looked at Cloud, confused. He shrugged.

"She looked uncomfortable." Cloud wound gauze around the wounds, all the while looking at the downed Turk's face. "What were you doing in Midgar, Rude?"

--

Yuffie stood against the wall in the guest bedroom, trying to catch her breath. She'd never known what his eye colour was until tonight. He had opened them briefly when Tifa was busy cutting his suit to ribbons. He'd looked right at her, and she'd seen something familiar in his gaze.

His gaze…

Why had he affected her like this? Why was she reduced to a shivering mess, against her wall, unable to think of anything else?

Yellow. _My god_, she thought. _His eyes are yellow._

* * *

_A/N: If you give me a review, I'll admit to bedwetting._


	3. Yellow

**Yellow**

Rude's green eyes met Woodstock's grey ones, iris for iris. The intensity of their stare felt as if it could burn worlds, incinerate whole human beings.

Guard training was approaching the two month mark, and Woodstock was about to send another batch of killers to Shinra HQ. His officials had sent him a letter questioning his methods about Barry. When he had caught the kid napping on patrol, he had flogged the bastard until the youth's ribs cracked and he coughed blood. Apparently, he died in a hospital a week later.

HQ didn't approve of his methods. The only reason Shinra had failed to fire the sergeant was because he produced the best damn soldiers on the planet, and the old man knew it. He'd never met a recruit he couldn't break, never met a recruit that didn't fear him and his methods. He was good at his job.

Then again, he'd never met Rude.

He'd watched the boy evolve into a man in the time he'd served. His skin, once pale, was tanned, his black hair had been shaved off, making him look like a professional, even in scuffed combat boots and a muddy, green uniform. His once thin frame had become harder, bigger, the power in his arms all too evident beneath the fabric of his shirt. Despite his rebellious attitude, he hadn't spoken a word for the majority of the two months, other than the occasional _yes sir_ or _no sir_ in response to a question.

Of all the recruits in this new batch, Rude was the one that Shinra was interested in. They said that he was going to make a very successful guard, and maybe even a Turk, one day. He had also proven himself an excellent shot, favouring a long distance rifle to a pistol. A sniper, maybe. Woodstock couldn't allow him to continue, unfortunately. If Shinra heard about Rude's rebellious attitude, they might think that Woodstock was slipping, and he couldn't have that. Not one bit.

Woodstock stood, face to face with the recruit, a cigar in his mouth. Maybe it was time to teach Rude how to be polite to his elders.

"Rude. You've been a right pain in my ass since the first time I saw you. I don't like you, son. In fact, I think you're the only recruit to ever be trained by me and be utterly _despised._ I don't like your attitude, your compassion, or your face. A guard can't afford to be compassionate to his squad. A guard _guards_ the objective. If a soldier falls, so be it. Keep the objective safe." The sergeant turned, taking a pace away from Rude. "You've failed every drill and every test I've set out for you, because you're too concerned about your team to do anything about the objective. You aren't in SOLDIER, son. You aren't even in the Turks. You're a goddamn guard, and that's all you'll ever be if you don't pass these tests."

Woodstock turned, looking deep in Rude's eyes, looking for a reaction. All he saw was that steely-eyed determination, the constant expression on Rude's face.

He sighed, turning away. "You're clearly not determined enough to pass the exam to guardship." He took a piece of paper from his pocket, and slapped it against Rude's chest. "You are hereby expelled from the guardship. You can apply next year. But if I see you in my unit again, I will not hesitate to cut you, you understand? Stay away. I'll give you two days to clean out." The sergeant spun on his heel, and walked away.

Rude's eyes narrowed and his fists clenched. He would only need one.

--

Woodstock was writing out forms in his cabin when he heard a twig snap outside. He looked up, wondering who could be outside at this time of night. "Hello?" he called, waiting for an answer. When there was no knock after ten seconds, Woodstock stood.

He grabbed his pistol off his desk, checked the ammo, and levelled it at the door. Years of combat training had honed his instincts, and he wasn't about to go down in a training camp of all places.

"Show yourself." He called, creeping towards the door. Silence answered him, nothing but the wind moving through the trees.

Woodstock didn't consider himself a stupid man, and so turned the knob, opening the door a crack. He put the pistol out first, scanning the area around the door. Satisfied that there was nothing amiss, he stepped outside fully, checking the corners, gun levelled in case someone rushed him.

When nobody did, he walked back inside, closing the door. He turned to go back to his writing.

A hand grabbed him by the throat, another grabbed his gun wrist. He was lifted up against the door, making a helpless gurgling sound as his panicked grey eyes met calm green ones. Rude unloaded the gun in his sergeants hand with a flick of his fingers, listening as the magazine dropped to the floor.

"What you did to Barry was unforgivable, Woodstock." The recruit growled. Woodstock gasped for air as Rude's grip tightened. "Fortunately, there is redemption available."

Rude's grip on Woodstock's wrist slackened ever so slightly as he focused on strangling the sergeant. Woodstock had only one chance.

Sharply, he pulled his gun hand out of Rude's grip and put it in the middle of Rude's forehead, firing. The blank cartridge made a cracking sound, and gunpowder flew into Rude's eyes. With a yell, Rude brought his free hand around, the weighted gloves adding to the powerful strike across Woodstock's jaw. A crack signalled the bone snapping, pushed past it's endurance point. Much like the two combatants.

Rude kicked the older man in the stomach as he fell. Woodstock doubled over, groaning. Rude staggered out the door, half blind and confused. He stumbled into the woods he jogged in for the last two months, looking at himself in the water.

His eyes were yellow. Bright yellow. Canary freaking yellow.

He pulled sunglasses from his inside pocket, donning them quickly. Yellow eyes meant that he didn't blend in. Yellow eyes marked him as an oddity.

Yellow eyes were going to be a problem.

* * *

Rude awoke with a start, on a strange couch, without a shirt. He squinted, rubbing his head absently as he looked around. He was in a living room, he thought. A well decorated living room, with the walls a soft, light brown, the television on but muted.

He sat up, one arm leveraging himself on the back of the couch. Two curious faces were looking at him over the opposite arm.

He rubbed his neck absently. "Uh… Hi." He said, wincing at the sound of his own voice. It sounded scratchy, like he had just woken up from a long and deep sleep. The two kids continued scrutinizing him, sizing him up, testing the waters before diving in.

The little girl spoke first. "Hi. I'm Marlene." She said brightly, coming forwards, extending her hand. The boy ducked lower, clearly the more cautious of the two.

"Rude." He said flatly, engulfing her hand in his. She studied his eyes.

"Why're your eyes so weird?" She asked, cocking her head. The boy hissed at her.

"Marlene! That's rude."

Marlene looked at the boy. "Can it, Denzel. You're just mad because I asked first."

"Am not."

"Are too!"

Rude fell back against the arm of the couch with a small sigh, watching the little ones bicker. He squinted against the sunlight streaming through the window, his gaze roaming the room, taking in the sights.

Sunlight…

Rude bolted upright again, his bandaged shoulder wound singing with pain as he did so. He looked around nervously, running his hands over his shaved crown.

It was morning. Which meant he must've gotten to where he was going. Which means that he was in 7th heaven.

Did Tifa patch him up last night? If she did, she did a really good job with the bandaging. He ran his fingers over his wrapped abdomen, feeling for flaws. There were none. Truly a terrific job.

Someone cleared their throat, and Rude looked up to see Marlene and Denzel watching him.

"Cloud said you'd be staying with us a while. Is it true, Rude?" Marlene smiled at him. Rude shook his head.

"I'm not sure." He said, standing. The room tilted a little, but he could stand without support. His shoulder, in addition to having a hole in it, also was scraped from when he walked along the wall. He felt the scabbing, satisfying himself at the fact that they were healing quickly.

"Where'd you get the scars?" Denzel asked shyly, pointing at his chest.

Rude didn't answer, instead stalked past the two little ones and into the bar area.

The bar was bustling with patrons, the noise level a steady hum as he strode through, searching for the exit. A familiar spiky blonde head was suddenly in view, and he walked towards it.

Cloud was just finishing a conversation with a potential client when a shadow came across his path. He turned to see Rude, barefoot and shirtless, standing in front of him. Cloud's mako-blue eyes met Rude's mustard-yellow ones, and the two men looked awkwardly at each other for some time before someone spoke.

"Thank you." The bald man said, nodding. Cloud nodded back.

"You're welcome. I would ask for an explanation, but I'm not sure if I actually want to know." Tifa came up behind his shoulder, putting a hand on Cloud's arm, leaning into his shoulder as she looked at Rude.

"I would, if you don't mind. Did it happen near here?"

Rude nodded. "I was escorting a client through Midgar with a partner. We were ambushed."

Cloud looked intrigued at this bit of news, reaching over and covering Tifa's hand with his. "Where?"

"About four blocks from here. Five of them, not exactly well trained. Mr. Miyagi and my partner were the first ones down. I had to fight my way out." He searched his pockets for something, and came up with a gold necklace. "Does this mean anything to you?"

Cloud took the trinket, turning it over in his hands. He shook his head. Tifa left his side to go take a few orders at the far side of the bar. "It doesn't look familiar. Why?"

Rude took it back. "One of them was wearing it. Same guy who ripped my ear stud out."

"Where is he now?"

"Dead." Rude's voice was flat as he said it. Cloud didn't look surprised. "I need to find out who did this, Cloud. I need to found out who wanted us dead."

Cloud nodded, but noted the sweat on Rude's brow. "You need to lie down again, Rude. You've been shot. Take a few days, recover, and then go find out who did it."

Rude nodded, leaning against the bar for support. "Thanks."

"Take my bed. It's probably the only one big enough to support you. Go. Get some sleep. I'll even help you in the morning." Cloud watched the big man head up the stairs. Tifa came up behind him.

"So, you gave up your bed, eh?" She said, smiling. Cloud turned to face her. "That was a nice gesture. Where were you planning on sleeping?"

"Well, the couch is always comfortable, and I figured since I get home late anyways, it'd be a good place to crash-"

"My bed's big." Tifa blurted, and then went red. "I- I mean… if you wanted to sleep in a bed, rather than the couch. It's pretty uncomfortable."

Cloud rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh… Sure. If- that's okay with you?"

Tifa nodded. "Yep. Yes. Yes it is."

"Okay then." Cloud grinned lopsidedly, and then jerked his thumb to the door. "I uh… Gotta… see ya." He walked briskly to the door.

"Bye!" Tifa said, hurriedly grabbing a glass to wipe.

"Smooth." muttered one of her customers, grinning at her. Tifa shushed him, pressing her knuckles to her cheeks, trying to soothe the heat.

* * *

_A/N: If you give me a review, I'll give you a dollar._


	4. Heat

**Heat**

Rude hated what his life had become, ever since his abrupt departure from the guardship. He worked now as a gun for hire, a mercenary out on loan for whoever had the most dough. Two years he'd slaved for mobsters, gangsters, businessmen, even a housewife needing protection. His services were on a strict 'don't ask, don't tell' basis. He didn't want to know anything more than he needed to, and gangs respected that about him.

Shadier clientele liked the way he looked professional, bomber jacket always zipped, collared shirt pressed and clean, sunglasses and shaved head. He was professionalism personified in a large package. They also liked his morals, or lack thereof. He had common sense, but he did anything to get the job done, come hell or high water. This made him a very busy man, and he moved up in the underground of Edge.

On this particular day, the sun beat down on his shaven head as he walked the streets of Edge. Usually, citizens never felt safe in the slums, but the weight of the pistol strapped to his chest made Rude feel a little better about his position. He walked into a very unkempt building, with a lopsided roof atop a red brick structure, complete with broken windows. Rude sighed. His clientele wasn't getting an upgrade in lodgings, it seemed.

Rude stepped past the two guards standing near the doorway, walking straight to the kitchen. There, Mr. Miyagi, a short asian man, was seated, talking heatedly with two guests, both sporting white suits. Rude felt a little underdressed, his usual attire of black bomber jacket overtop of a white collared shirt paled in comparison to suits and bowler hats.

"I understand, Mr. Mareno, but I cannot be held responsible for the actions of one group of terrorists- ah, Rude. Right on time, as usual. Sit." Miyagi indicated the only available chair. Rude shook his head, crossing his hands behind his back. Miyagi sighed.

"This one's a gem, gentlemen. He never sits. Not unless you pay him to." Miyagi chuckled. "Rude, I want you to meet the Mareno brothers. They were just leaving, unfortunately." Miyagi snapped his fingers, and two broad shouldered men walked into the room. The two suits stood up.

"Remember our warning, Miyagi. A little money goes a long way." They turned and left, escorted by the broad-chested bodyguards. Miyagi sighed, and rubbed his temples.

"Business isn't like it used to be, Rude. These two… _imbeciles_ expect me to fund some harebrained terrorist scheme to bring down Shinra. Like anyone could accomplish that!" The little man barked a laugh, and then softened, looking at Rude almost apologetically.

"I have unpleasant business for you, Rude. I'm very sorry of it's nature, but someone has to do it, and you're the only merc in the city that I can trust. I'd send one of my boys, but…" Miyagi shrugged. Rude understood. Miyagi didn't want anyone to trace him to his crimes. Miyagi reached behind him, grabbing a file folder.

"There's a man. Like usual. He lives in Wutai. Bit of a trip, but all your expenses will be paid. I don't really want to go into detail, but this man needs to die." Miyagi paused. "Other casualties will not be punished."

Rude again understood the little man's undertone. "Other Casualties" meant this man - whoever he was- and his family had to go. The reports would claim that it was collateral damage. Apparently, Miyagi was _really_ pissed.

Rude briefly wondered what the guy did to earn his wrath.

"It needs to look like an accident, or a random mob. We need you to use fire. Engulf the house, make sure there are no survivors." Miyagi slid a pair of weighted gloves across the table. "These are flame resistant and weighted. I know how much you prefer weighted gloves. Consider them a gift."

Rude caressed the calloused leather, remembering another time, another house, where he'd brought his fist across an old man's jaw, shattering it…

"You leave as soon as possible. Money and further information is in there." Miyagi indicated the folder with his chin. Rude nodded and left, taking the gloves with him. As he walked outside, he passed a man with flame red hair, tied in a loose ponytail. The man gave him a smirk as he walked past, and the bald Mercenary had the time to look at his attire. Ruffled suit, unpressed collar, scuffed designer shoes.

Turk.

Rude didn't return the nod, walking out briskly. He didn't like Turks. Didn't know anyone who did. They got in the way of things, made business run roughly. If Shinra wanted someone protected that Miyagi wanted dead, things often got interesting.

Rude prayed silently that this job would go over smooth. He didn't like fighting Turks.

---

"Reno." Miyagi said, folding his arms. "What have I done to interest the Turks?"

Reno sat against the table, looking at his fingernails. "What haven't you done is a shorter list, short stop." He smiled, and jerked his thumb at the door. "You still employing Mr. Clean?"

"He does good work. A man like me needs a man like him. It keeps things… convenient." Miyagi sighed, reaching behind him and grabbing a brown envelope. He tossed it to the Turk. Reno caught it, grinning.

"There. That's a months payment. Please stay away from my establishment."

Reno laughed. "I didn't come here to collect, shorty. I came here to find someone. _Someones_, actually. The Moreno brothers. Apparently, Shinra has an interest in them."

Miyagi squinted at the Turk, who was now sitting full on the kitchen table. He hated dealing with Shinra. It was bad for business. "For what, exactly?"

"Don't know, don't care. Only been in the Turks a few months. All I care about is getting the prize." He leaned across the table, grinning. "Where are they, Miyagi?"

Miyagi shrugged. "Gone. You missed them. They came here, asking me to fund some project of theirs. They left when I refused."

Reno smirked. "Miyagi, you refused to _help_ someone? Perish the thought."

Miyagi shrugged again. "There's no money in terrorism."

"Ain't that the truth." Reno said, grinning. He stood. "I'll be off. Thanks for the chat, shorty."

At the door, Reno turned to look at the short mobster. "Oh, and one more thing. That guy in Wutai who refused to take your bet? Shinra's got an interest in him. Something about "advanced testing" in biotechnics or something. I hope Mr. Clean is prepared for a fight."

Miyagi watched the flame haired Turk leave. He immediately grabbed his cell phone, dialing Rude's number. No answer. Rude never answered when he traveled.

With no way to warn the prized merc, Miyagi had just sentenced him to death.

--

Rude lay on a hill, hood of his bomber jacket pulled over his head, the only skin showing was the skin around his eye. The eye itself was looking through a high powered scope, attached to a high caliber sniper rifle. The sights of said rifle were now on a house, which was about to be engulfed in flame.

Rude checked his watch, waiting for exactly three o'clock in the morning. Three minutes to go. It hadn't been a big deal to sneak into the house and rig the stove to blow up at three, using a disintegrating timer and fuse. When the explosion happened, they would be reduced to ash, just more debris in the wake of the rest of the house.

The rifle was a precaution. If anyone in the family tried to escape, he'd gun them down. Simple as that.

Through the scope, he saw two suited men walking up to the house. His eyes widened. No way they could be…

The pair knocked on the door of the house, a red haired one drew his pistol. The one that looked like the leader, blonde, spoke into what looked like a radio. The knocking finally yielded in a result, the house owner poked his head outside. The suited duo spoke quickly to him, and he ran back inside.

One of them turned his face to the side a little, looking in the general direction of Rude, his gaze cool and determined.

Shit. Shit. _Shit._

Turks.

Someone must've tipped them off. Miyagi? No. The man was like an uncle to Rude, and he'd die before selling him out. The Morenos? No way Avalanche backers were snitching to Shinra execs. That left…

The red head that he had passed.

The little sneak had been listening. Rude cursed his luck. Stupid, stupid, _stupid._ He had been careless, and now he was screwed.

He faced a difficult decision; fight or run. They clearly knew where he was, so fleeing straight forwards or backwards was out. He could open fire, kill the two standing there, but that would lead to a manhunt. Besides, Turks rarely traveled in pairs at night; usually backup was only a short helicopter ride away. Rude swore again, and made his decision. Fleeing. He quickly packed the sniper rifle up, putting it in its case.

"Going somewhere?" A voice said behind him. He stiffened. Of _course_.

He snapped the case shut, and put his sunglasses on. He heard a pistol cock. "On your feet, turn around, hands where I can see them."

Rude rose, his hands in the air, but he didn't turn around just yet. He stood, weighing his options, waiting for the Turk to make a mistake.

A sigh was heard behind him, and footsteps drew nearer. Rude counted them, waiting.

When the steps hit eight, Rude swung, hitting the gun away with his outstretched fist. His other hand hit the man in the gut, simultaneously bringing his knee up to hit the Turk in the chin as he doubled over. The Turk made a gurgling sound as he staggered backwards, leaving himself open for a kick in the face. He slumped, unconscious.

Rude grabbed the case and ran, his strides growing longer as he ran down the hill, away from the house. An explosion sounded, roaring in his ears. He grimaced, not even satisfied with another job well done.

All he could think was a continued mantra. _I just knocked out a Turk…_

* * *

A knock on his- or rather, _Cloud's_ - door disturbed his waltz down memory lane. He looked up from his seat on the floor and said in a choked voice, "Come in."

The door creaked open, and an unfamiliar silhouette briefly filled the room. The door closed and a female figure walked towards him, carrying a tray. He looked up at her, recognizing her from his hunt for Avalanche.

"Why're you on the floor?" Yuffie asked, noting his position. He was sitting with his knees close to his chest, arms folded on his knees. He was clad only in pants. Yuffie tried not to stare at him shirtless, but there she was, gawking anyways.

"Didn't feel right to take the bed. It's too small anyways. And I think I've slept enough for a week." Rude relaxed from his tense position. He'd been sitting there for hours, it felt like. Long enough for the sky to get dark, anyways.

"Yeah, well, sleeping for eighteen hours is likely to do that to you." She set the tray on the nightstand positioned at the foot of the bed. "Mind if I join you? I'm having trouble sleeping, too."

Rude gestured to the floor beside him. She smiled and settled on the floor, leaning against the wall, mimicking his leg position.

Rude cocked his head at her, looking at her face. She looked back, briefly meeting his gaze, staring at the yellow.

"Your eyes are a little… unorthodox." She said meekly, looking away. He nodded, breaking the gaze too.

"Yeah… Long story." He said, simply. He had been having a lot of uncomfortable memories lately, memories that didn't need to be unlocked just yet. But strangely, he felt comfortable here, sitting on the floor. Company didn't hurt, either.

"So, why can't you sleep?" Rude said, looking at her. She turned her face to the ceiling, closing her eyes.

"I dunno. I guess… It's been a hectic few days, I guess. The whole reason I came down here was to escape my father, y'know?" She smiled. "And now, I… I don't think I want to go back."

"To Wutai?" He said. She started, and looked at him. Had she told him where she lived?

"Yes…" She said, slowly. "It's a beautiful country, but being a princess and all is… hard work." She chuckled. He was still looking at her, gazing at her face. She squirmed a bit and changed the subject. "What about you? Why couldn't you sleep?"

That made him shift his gaze, and Yuffie couldn't decide whether or not that was a good thing. "Nightmares." he said, flatly. Yuffie nodded.

A comfortable silence stretched between them, Yuffie shifting every once and a while to find a comfortable position on the floor, Rude staying stock still and staring straight ahead. She wondered how he did that, staying so stock still. She asked him.

He seemed surprised by the question, and shifted his gaze back to her again. "I was trained as a sniper. It's second nature, I guess."

She smiled, nodding. "You've spent most of your life fighting, then?"

Rude nodded somberly. "I was born in a bad neighbourhood. I thought I could escape it by becoming a Guard for Shinra, but… well, life goes on." He sighed heavily. She sighed too, and rose.

"I better get _some_ sleep. Tomorrow, I'm taking you to get some clothes." Rude looked at her in confusion. "Unless you plan to go about exacting revenge shirtless." She added. Rude smiled, and nodded.

She exited, reminiscing about the peace of the strange exchange. His quiet nature made sense to her, now. In the peace and quiet of his room, she had realised a lot about him.

His eyes were still his most startling feature, but they seemed to wax and wane. When he was quiet and staring, they seemed dull, but when they focused on her face, they brightened to an almost topaz hue. And his voice was deep, gravely.

She smiled to herself as she made her way back to the guest bedroom, humming softly. She lay in bed, quietly pondering the man who had seen the entire world, and all it had taught him was how to fight.

* * *

_A/N: If you give me a review, I'll give you a gold star._


	5. Fight

**Fight**

They had cornered him again. Cornered him in a building with eight stories, above, below, surrounding. Helicopters whirred overhead, meaning more men in the air and harder escape routes. Trucks drove on empty streets, meaning roped off areas and a block radius, making escape impossible.

He guessed about five hundred men, total. Probably about eight Turks.

Not for the first time, Rude wondered if he had finally been pinned down.

Four months. He had been running for four months, leading Shinra in a desperate race across the planet, back and forth, from Wutai to Edge to Midgar to the mountains and back. Each time the forces got bigger, and each time his escape was that much more unheard of. The Turks were getting frustrated. Shinra was getting frustrated.

Rude was getting frustrated.

Sometimes, he wanted to just throw himself at the forces and let them shoot him, stab him, or whatever they did to convicts on the run. Those times were usually right before a guard turned the wrong corner, or a Turk stepped too close to his hiding spot.

Then, in a flash, he'd make his move, take a hostage, grab a gun, subdue a man. He'd run and they'd chase him. He'd escape and they'd follow.

This time, he was in Edge. An upper class office. He'd lost track of how many times he'd run through the schematics of the building, looking for the best spot to sleep the night. He was lucky if he got four hours a night, now.

He was camped out on the sixth floor, not too close to the roof, but high enough that snipers were rendered useless. He was pretty confident in his ability to outshoot any sniper the guardship threw at him, but the Turks were another story. They were elite. They were hard.

They were… startlingly predictable.

It was what had kept him alive so far, his ability to improvise. He had the potential to turn anything into a weapon, if given the motivation. He'd used it unflinchingly so far, and the Turks had feared him for it, been more cautious. Still, they still used tactics like sending an entire unit in an elevator, not realising that elevator cables could be cut.

He was standing atop the elevator, going upwards, with a saw in his right hand. His torn and tattered bomber's jacket fluttered with the motion of the elevator, and strained with the movement of his arm, frantically sawing through the cable. When it was suitably frayed, Rude jumped off, grabbing the service ladder and squishing his body against the wall, narrowly avoiding the elevator as it rose past his head.

Three seconds later, the elevator came hurtling back down, complete with the sound of screaming men.

--

The two turks outside heard the _thump_ of the elevator crashing down in it's shaft, and decided that now was a really good time to call for assistance. The subject inside the building was dangerous, even though they were all pretty sure he had run out of ammo for that standard issue handgun of his two months ago. The black haired Turk, cradling a shotgun in elegant fingers, looked up in the direction of the sixth floor.

"We go to him, then." She said, index finger curling around the shotgun's trigger.

The blonde Turk beside her nodded, worrying his lower lip. He checked his dual pistols ammo, and kicked open the doors to the office building.

"Take fifty guards with you. I'll stay down here if you need backup." He checked his watch. "Reno and Tseng should be here soon, and they're bringing most of the reinforcements with them. Good luck."

The Turk with the shotgun raced to the stairwell, fifty armed and armoured guards ran with her.

The blonde bit his lip again. This looked like there was no end in sight.

--

Rude heard pounding feet on the stairs, and decided that furniture was better than any weaponry he could've found at that moment. He hurtled chairs, couches, computers - anything he could get his hands on that wasn't nailed down, went sailing down the stairs.

Below, he heard shouts and grunts as men dodged and failed to avoid the incoming obstacles. A round erupted into the wall near his perch, forcing him to instinctively dive to the side. Another shotgun blast erupted where his head should've been.

Unnatural aim, check. Quick reload, check.

Turk.

He crouched, hands curled into fists, below the sightline of the stairwells. The guards couldn't see him in this stance, and he was able to lunge and hopefully take the Turk and her shotgun by surprise.

Footsteps drew near. Not boot heel stomping, but the careful stepping of designer shoes.

When one of those shoes were in view, Rude lunged.

All the black haired Turk saw was a black mess before slamming into the opposite wall. A knee hit her in the face. She tried to counter with an open handed blow, but he grabbed her hand, used it as counterbalance, and head butted her in the nose. She staggered backwards, tripped down the stairs, and fell into the oncoming Guards. Chaos erupted around her, with guards opening fire and running, boots and green pants surrounded her head. When she was helped up, she swayed on her feet, radioing the Turk downstairs about what happened.

She realised suddenly that she no longer was in possession of her shotgun.

--

Rude returned fire at the top of the stairs, firing blast after blast into the crowd of Guards. Some fell, others pulled back. When the shotgun was empty, he threw it, spinning, at a guard who was on one knee, aiming for his chest.

The shotgun collided with the guard's helmed head, making the poor soldier slump over, unconscious.

The rest of the guards retreated, calling down the stairs, dragging their wounded. Rude let them go. He needed to find his next choke point.

--

When Tseng and Reno had arrived, the Blonde had nearly fallen to pieces with worry. The raven haired Turk came in first, surrounded by three other suited warriors. He put his hand on the blonde Turk's shoulder, smiling.

"Relax. We have a plan." He jerked his thumb behind him. A helicopter was unloading three passengers; Reno and two others. One of them was in armor, carrying a sword that seemed too big for his body. The other was in a guard's uniform, but was older, at least fifty, and had a scar on his jaw.

Tseng smiled. "Drill Commander Woodstock, and his personal escort. This guy apparently trained our fugitive. He can help us nab him."

* * *

"I feel ridiculous."

The words slipped out of Rude as he and Yuffie walked to one of the three men's clothing stores in Midgar. Yuffie gave him a once-over. Tattered shirt, same pants as yesterday - the last three days, in fact - black combat boods that were muddy and scuffed. Rude had insisted on the shirt - despite having two holes in it and being cut down the center. Yuffie hadn't objected, but had to admit his outfit was a little ridiculous. Plus, she kind of missed seeing him shirtless.

"You look fine. Stop worrying so much." She linked her arm through his, pulling him into the store's entrance. She talked to the clerk about clothes, sunglasses, shoes, basically anything that Rude had on before he was shot and forced to run in the rain.

Rude busied himself looking through the racks, idly searching for anything that closely resembled a suit jacket. The closest he found was a Hawaiian shirt, blue with pictures of birds and sea in the background. He picked it off the hanger, and something caught his eye.

After discussing brand names with the clerk, Yuffie hunted through the sunglasses rack, looking for that essential touch to Rude's look. She found a black pair of sunglasses almost exactly the same as the ones he'd lost. She brought those and a black pair of jeans to him, finding him facing away from her. She nudged his arm, handing him the items.

He turned to face her, holding the sleeve of a black bomber jacket, complete with hood. He was looking at her closely, smiling a sort of reminiscent smile. She looked at the jacket, and back at him. He held up the blue shirt in his other hand, the smile becoming a grin.

"Instead of the suit and shirt." he said. She grinned back at him, and nodded.

When he came out of the dressing room, dirty old pants folded over an arm, she squealed and clapped, deciding that this look was _much _better suited to him. She told him so, and he laughed, telling her that what she was wearing wasn't too bad either.

She had the grace to blush at the compliment, and then paid for the clothes and left the store, him trailing behind. She gave him a once over as he donned his sunglasses, and she grinned. She liked this outfit even better.

--

Tifa nearly had a heart attack at the site of Rude walking into her bar in black jeans, a hooded bomber jacket, and a blue Hawaiian shirt. He looked relaxed without his suit and tie getup, that and a smile, though small, lit up his face.

Yuffie walked by his side, humming tunelessly. She sat down at the bar and ordered something fruity and alcoholic. Tifa happily obliged, and then shot a pointed questioning glance at the Turk's back. Yuffie grinned.

"I think we're… bonding." She said, insanely happy at the concept. "He's a nice man."

Tifa shook her head at her young friend, sliding the drink to the ninja. "Drink up, Yuf. You're only getting the one."

Rude walked past the bar and to Cloud's office. Finding Cloud in the middle of a sales call, he leaned against the doorframe until the call concluded.

Cloud turned around, and did a double take at Rude's outfit. Rude shrugged. "Yuffie." He said, by way of explanation. Cloud smirked and let it slide.

"I'm declaring it Hunting season, Cloud." Rude said, standing to his full height. Cloud understood the innuendo, but was still a little cautious.

"Hunting season?" He asked, his eyebrow cocked. Rude nodded. "In your condition? Rude, I think you should wait a few more days before-"

"They killed someone close to me." Rude interrupted, flatly. "The longer they're alive, the longer I can't sleep."

Cloud nodded in understanding. "Well… are you even armed? I know you're good at fist fighting, Rude, but the less you have to strain that shoulder the better."

"I know a guy." The Turk said, making it clear that his contact would remain nameless. Cloud sighed.

"Well… Good luck, I guess." He rubbed the back of his neck. "When it's done, come back and see us. You're always welcome here."

Rude nodded, and walked out the bar door, passing Yuffie happily sipping her drink and chatting with a customer. He looked at her for a moment, savouring the sight of her, before ducking out the door on his mission. Determination gripped him in a way it hadn't since he had been stuck in that office building.

There was no more stalling. Tonight, he would hunt for the people who had shot him, left him for dead. He would hunt for those who had killed one of his friends, and one of his employers. His mind raced with questions, possible answers, plans of attack.

Tonight, he would finally fulfill his duty.

* * *

_A/N: If you give me a review, I'll give you the answer to life, the universe, and everything._


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